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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27893278">penultimate thoughts</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/yuchi/pseuds/yuchi'>yuchi</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>late nights and green cupboards [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>NCT (Band)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Fluff and Angst, Getting Together, M/M, Multi, Polyamory, Polyamory Negotiations, more fluff than angst don't worry, they're not really there but implied, yukhei gets cucked. a bit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 09:34:12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>6,844</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27893278</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/yuchi/pseuds/yuchi</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Yukhei finds love thrice.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Mark Lee/Wong Kun Hang | Hendery/Wong Yuk Hei | Lucas/Xiao De Jun | Xiao Jun</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>late nights and green cupboards [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2042509</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>91</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>penultimate thoughts</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>hello, it's me. self-appointed ggoogooz president</p><p>please be warned, this is basically just the sparknotes summary to how 99 line got together in je te veux, so it's not a magnum opus by any means. and unbetaed, so tread carefully.</p><p>the title is from a piano composition by erik satie. the story behind it is quite cute, actually. enjoy!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>i. idylle</b>
</p><p> </p><p>It all starts as a cliché.</p><p>Yukhei, as all humanities majors inevitably are, is strapped for cash. There's only so much instant ramen a man can take in a lifetime, and after the third day, he's gently prompted by his older roommate to at least browse through the university's buy and sell page for anything that pays.</p><p>"Even if it's of dubious intent?" he says doubtfully to Kun as he starts up his laptop.</p><p>Kun rolls his eyes, patting him on the head. "It's a college campus. How much dubious intent can there be?"</p><p>Thankfully, there's a listing for what looks like the easiest job in the world: model for an intermediate painting class. Other people have balked at the idea of posing near-naked—the comments section tells him that much—but Wong Yukhei certainly has no qualms about that. Two birds with one stone, as far as he's concerned: cash and an ego-stroking session. He's fucking in.</p><p>Nevertheless, he's nervous when he makes his way through the fine arts building. The professor is welcoming enough as she introduces him to the class, and Yukhei grins when one of the students glances a little too familiarly at him, giggling when she's caught. </p><p>The class proceeds in relative peace, all of them exceedingly professional. As professional as they could be while ogling his body, anyway. </p><p>There's only so much entertainment to be found while staying still for an hour, so Yukhei elects to surveying the students. He generously gives one or two winks, much to the recipients' vexation. What truly piques his interest, though, is a boy in a sweater vest almost at the very back of the room, who looks much too absorbed in his easel. He looks up at Yukhei for reference, and their eyes meet. </p><p>The boy smiles. Yukhei, caught off guard, flushes to his ears.</p><p>The hour ends, and Yukhei hastily wraps himself up in his clothes as the students gather their things. He passes by the boy's station as he exits the changing room, catching a glimpse of the painting on his easel. It's unfinished, only having been painted over his head and neck, but the sketch is reasonably accurate and the colors are warm, perfect for the time of day. Yukhei looks hot on canvas, if he does say so himself.</p><p>There's something that he can't let slide, though. "Was I really that red?" he asks the boy, who's returning from the water cooler.</p><p>"Hm. I must've been the only one who saw it," he hums in an innocent manner. "Thanks for modeling today."</p><p>"All in a day's work," Yukhei answers stupidly, watching the boy drink from his water bottle. He waves, clearly a dismissal, and Yukhei inches towards the door. "Um, bye. See you this Thursday."</p><p>He models for three more sessions, and at each one he tries desperately not to look at the boy—Kunhang, he learns, after the second class. Kunhang is never anything else but courteous, which is a little disheartening for his burgeoning interest in the art major, but nothing he can't deal with.</p><p>The sessions end, and Yukhei finds himself no less intrigued by this wisp of a boy with bright eyes and a sharp tongue. And so, when he runs into Kunhang at the fine arts building when he collects his pay, the practical thing is to ask him out for coffee. Much to Yukhei's surprise, Kunhang says yes and scribbles his number into a spiral notebook, ripping the sheet out and depositing it in a dumbfounded Yukhei's hand.</p><p>Broke humanities and liberal arts majors that they are, they opt for a café on campus that'll be nicer to their wallets than any of the ones in town. They take a window seat, right by the frosted signage on the glass, where they can see other students milling around that Saturday afternoon.</p><p>Small talk is painful as it always is, but the awkwardness is soothed by the view. Kunhang looks pretty, all done up in an argyle vest and gold-rimmed glasses, and they eventually sidle into the important stuff. Like Yukhei's major, which shocks Kunhang somehow.</p><p>"You major in art history?" Kunhang repeats, brows hiked up in surprise.</p><p>"Mhm. I like looking at pretty things, and learning about pretty things." Yukhei leans forward, sporting what he hopes is a charming smile. "Which reminds me, what's your favorite color?" </p><p>Kunhang rolls his eyes, but he's smiling.</p><p>Coffee runs become study dates, which prove to be beneficial for them both who love to go on and on about what they're studying. Kunhang provides a fresh perspective on something as set in stone as history, and Yukhei loves listening to him and his brilliance. In turn, Kunhang asks him for critique on his work, be it paint, pencil, or plaster.</p><p>"I could use an art historian's opinion. Will I be making history, or will I fade in obscurity?" he asks, pencil pointed towards his newest creation: an eclectic rendition of the liberal arts building, with wobbly but charming hand-drawn lines.</p><p>Yukhei simply shrugs. "That's up to you, not me, isn't it?"</p><p>"Right you always are, Yukhei."</p><p>Kunhang, he learns, is just a little bit insane, but in the best way. When time permits, Yukhei is dragged to exhibitions, museums, open mic nights. Yukhei loves every second, of course. There's very little that can give him more happiness than spending time with Kunhang and all that art. Somewhere between all of that, they become official, and they celebrate with a virtual tour of the Los Angeles County Museum of Art.</p><p>"Imagine a world where René Magritte never drew that cigar, or whatever," Kunhang postulates.</p><p>Yukhei smiles, endlessly endeared. "It was a pipe, babe."</p><p>"Ah! But that's the point, wasn't it?" Kunhang chides. "<em>Ceci n'est pas une pipe. </em> Have you learned nothing?"</p><p>Yukhei answers by wrestling Kunhang's laptop out of his lap and kissing him. Kunhang's tiny double can barely fit them both, but they manage, and Kunhang's hands are on the fly of his pants before Yukhei can even catch a breath.</p><p>"Holy shit," Yukhei gasps, stilling Kunhang's hands with his own. </p><p>"Why so shy?" Kunhang questions playfully, pinching at his side. "I've already seen all there is to see."</p><p>"Not in this... context," Yukhei fumbles.</p><p>Kunhang's eyes soften. "We can stop if you want," he says gently, putting his hands up in mock surrender.</p><p>Yukhei shakes his head vehemently. "No. We are <em> not </em> stopping."</p><p>"Okay." Kunhang smiles and leans forward to kiss him, clever fingers back on his zipper. "Oh, you were right—that <em> is </em>a pipe…"</p><p>"Oh my <em> god," </em>Yukhei groans. "Please, this is torture."</p><p>Kunhang smirks. There's not much discourse after that. </p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>One month in, they find themselves back at the coffee shop where they had their first date: the table by the window, with plenty of sunlight for all the reading they need to do for finals week. Or the reading they <em> ought </em> to be doing, because Kunhang seems otherwise busy with his sketchbook. "We're supposed to be studying," Yukhei chides. </p><p>"I <em> am </em> studying." Kunhang flips his sketchbook around to face Yukhei, and he takes it.</p><p>Smiling, his eyes trace over the lines of Kunhang's latest drawing: it's of him right now, sipping from the paper cup of cheap coffee they just bought. Yukhei commits the image to memory, awash with admiration; he was decent with pen and paper, sometimes charcoal, but he can never come close to the sheer talent that's on this page.</p><p>"It's very good," is all Yukhei manages as he returns the sketchbook.</p><p>"I'll finish it up and you can have it," Kunhang grins. "Think of it as a present for my muse."</p><p>When Kunhang gives him the sketch later, he has it framed. He knows that it's somewhat silly, maybe even excessive, but there's the possibility that his involvement with Kunhang will be fleeting, even though he hopes that's not the case. At least if this ends, he'll have something that lasts. Something that reminds him of how brilliant Kunhang is.</p><p>As luck will have it, he holds onto the sketch—and Kunhang—for many years. </p><p> </p>
<hr/><p><br/>
<b>ii. aubade</b>
</p><p> </p><p>Yukhei knows he's more blessed than most. He's stayed with Kunhang throughout college, even a little bit more, enough for them to discuss moving in after graduation. With a little bit of elbow grease, they find a two-bedroom apartment that has a slight heating problem. One bedroom for sleeping, the other for Kunhang's paintings. The place is dingy, a little beat up; but when they move in, it looks straight out of a fairytale to Yukhei.</p><p>"What do you say?" Kunhang asks, hands on his hips. He looks adorable in his overalls, pockets stuffed with scissors and masking tape and everything they might need for the move. "Looks like home?"</p><p>Yukhei smiles, circling an arm around Kunhang's shoulders and drawing him in close. "Yeah. Feels like home."</p><p>The days are much easier. He still has a shitty job at the school museum that pays him a little less than he would like, but it's a job he loves, getting to work with people he already knows from his old college department. Coming home to Kunhang every day is well worth it, too. He couldn't be happier.</p><p>Fairy tales end, of course. The beginning of the end, at least for Yukhei, is when he finds a sketchbook that Kunhang has left in the living room.</p><p>Yukhei thumbs through it absently. It's a fairly straightforward recollection of Kunhang's days: a mother and son at the park, the bakery on the corner of their street, a box of takoyaki that they bought the other day. Nothing too out of the ordinary—it's the last few pages that give him pause. A face features prominently in several of them: a man, wearing different expressions in every one. Smiling, frowning, laughing, creasing his brows in thought.</p><p>Heart pounding, Yukhei sets the sketchbook down where he found it, right on the coffee table beside Kunhang's pencils. He's an artist, Yukhei thinks to himself. Of course he'll sketch the people around him—he's done it with their friends. But there's a certain care that Kunhang has taken with this particular person, a touch that Yukhei's become aware of after years of being Kunhang's best critic.</p><p>He thinks to the framed sketch on their bedside. Kunhang comes home late that night. </p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>The bomb drops sooner than Yukhei expects it to. Kunhang bids him to sit down on their raggedy old couch, taking Yukhei's hands in his. "I need to tell you something."</p><p>"I already know," Yukhei says hoarsely. It's only been a few days, but he's already tired. Tired of thinking, tired of sleepless nights. "There's someone else. I saw your sketchbook."</p><p>Kunhang draws away from him in surprise, but he doesn't relinquish his hold on Yukhei's hands. "Oh. I'm sorry you had to find out that way."</p><p>"Is that all?" Yukhei scoffs. "Please, just end it now. I'd much rather this be as painless as it can.”</p><p>Kunhang frowns at him, as though the thought itself were ridiculous. "What? No, Yukhei, I'm not ending it at all.”</p><p>Yukhei all but yanks his hands away from Kunhang’s. "You're <em> not? </em>What kind of sick game is this—"</p><p>“Yukhei, please listen to me,” Kunhang pleads, taking his hands once again. “Dejun and I—we haven't made anything official yet. But I know that I have feelings for him, and he has feelings for me too, so we decided to wait.” Kunhang exhales, a shaky and uncertain sound. “Until I get your approval.”</p><p>“Approval?” Yukhei repeats in disbelief.</p><p>“For an open relationship. Yukhei, I still love you, of course.” Yukhei scowls at that, and Kunhang tightens his grip on his hands in answer, peering into his eyes with the utmost sincerity. “Nothing will change that. But I can't deny that I'm starting to feel something for someone else, too. I'd much rather be honest with you.”</p><p>"If it's approval you're looking for, then you'll never get it from me." The slam of their bedroom door echoes throughout the apartment. </p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>Kunhang disappears for three days. Yukhei can't be assed to find him, either. Bitterly, he wonders if Kunhang's sought refuge in Dejun. If Dejun is comforting him right now, after Yukhei's so steadfastly ignored all his attempts to make amends.</p><p>The apartment falls into disarray, but Yukhei hardly notices. He feels like shit—he <em> looks </em> like shit, and really, who can blame him? How is he just supposed to accept the fact that there's someone else in Kunhang's life, in a spot that only he was supposed to take up? The worst part of it all was Kunhang's <em> sincerity, </em>the fact that he so clearly cared about this Dejun character, how he looked completely smitten. Happy.</p><p>It’s with this undesirable truth that Yukhei spends most of the day pitying himself. He calls in sick to work—something he’s never done before, much to the surprise of everyone at the office—and elects to stay in bed until after noon, only getting up to make himself instant ramen.</p><p>At the end of the third day, he gets a visitor. Groaning, Yukhei hauls himself off the couch at the sound of the doorbell, peering through the peephole in the door to see who the fuck could possibly be visiting him in the middle of the night.</p><p>Of course, it's the last person he wants to see—the man in the sketches. He's standing pensively by the door, hands wrung together. "Hello? Is anyone there?" he says.</p><p>Exhaling once, Yukhei yanks the door open, glowering at the man. Dejun. To his credit, Dejun seems little fazed—resolved, even, as he eyes Yukhei.</p><p>"May I come in?" he asks politely. </p><p>It takes everything in him not to slam the door in Dejun's face, but upset as he is with Kunhang, he can't take it out on this man he's never even met. He settles for wordlessly opening the door wider, and Dejun toes his shoes off at the entryway. He at least has the decency not to take a seat.</p><p>"I'm here to talk about Kunhang," he begins. "He's staying at my apartment."</p><p>Just as Yukhei suspected. He tries his best to school his features into an impassive mask, but it's an exercise in futility. Kunhang always said he wore his heart on his sleeve. It's good, he supposes. That Dejun can probably see the derision on his face. "What is there to talk about?" he asks archly.</p><p>This seems to bewilder Dejun, who knits his brows together. "Your boyfriend is upset, and you don't care?" </p><p>"I'm not sure if I want to <em>be</em> that for him anymore," Yukhei says. "I'm sure you know my reasons." </p><p>"I do. But I swear to you, we haven't done anything—" </p><p>"What you've done or not doesn't <em> matter!" </em>Yukhei explodes. "It's what you feel for each other that does. And I don't think I can just stand by while my boyfriend clearly cares for another man other than me."</p><p>Dejun is rendered silent by that, which isn’t as satisfying as Yukhei thought it would be. Instead, Dejun takes this silence as an opportunity to appraise him, as though he could lay all Yukhei’s secrets bare with just one look.</p><p>"Kunhang can love two people,” he says eventually. “You know that, don't you?" </p><p>"I do,” Yukhei answers, and even to him, it sounds like defeat. “Of course I do. It doesn't make it hurt any less."</p><p>Dejun nods. "I'm really, truly sorry. About everything.” It’s Yukhei’s turn to scrutinize him—but Dejun looks and sounds genuine, which just rubs salt further into the wound. “But Kunhang… his happiness depends on yours, too. He barely eats, and as much as he wants to come home, he's afraid that you're still angry. I hate to see him suffering like this."</p><p>"You care about him." </p><p>"I do."</p><p>Somehow it hurts even more. Him and Dejun, more than just a sketch in Kunhang's notebook. Two people in the same boat. Yukhei scrubs a hand over his face; three days is long enough, he decides. "Tell him to come home and we'll talk."</p><p>Dejun sighs in relief. "Thank you."</p><p>Yukhei shakes his head. "Don't thank me just yet." </p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>It’s Yukhei who spoke too soon, it seems. He doesn’t know what part of him agreed to let Kunhang see Dejun—seriously this time, with all the frills and attachments of a relationship. A small voice in his head wonders if he's a masochist, if he can bear to live like this; the answer is a solid maybe. It's all Kunhang, he knows. Even after everything, he would do whatever it takes to make Kunhang happy. And if what makes him happy is seeing both him and Dejun, then so be it.</p><p>He allows himself one resolution: to not hate Dejun. It was never in his nature to hate anyone in the first place, but this seems like the perfect opportunity to give into something he never has before. Besides, if Kunhang likes him so much, he must not be the venom-spitting demon Yukhei’s darkest thoughts try to convince him that he is.</p><p>Still, he makes a point not to be alone with Dejun. It's not that Yukhei wants to be hostile, necessarily, just that he doesn't much like the idea. There’s nothing for them to talk about, and Yukhei would rather spare himself the hassle. Lord knows he’s almost at his breaking point.</p><p>Kunhang leaves for a week to visit his sister, and Yukhei is somewhat thankful for it. They've been together for so long, and of course Yukhei is thankful for that too, but they haven't really spent much of that time apart. It will be good for them, Yukhei thinks. The ugly, bitter part of him is relieved that Kunhang won't be seeing Dejun for that week, either. One less thing to worry about.</p><p>Weeks of stress finally take their toll, preying on his weakened state, and he comes down with the flu. It's a miserable day in bed, and he uses up all their stockpiles of tissue, barely keeping anything down when he tries to feed himself. When his fever reaches 38 degrees, he breaks and calls Kunhang, international billing rates be damned. </p><p>"You sound fucked up," Kunhang says simply.</p><p>"That tends to happen when you're sick, yes," Yukhei sniffs, stuffy nose preventing the acid in his tone from coming through.</p><p>Silence on the other line. "I have a solution, but you won't like it."</p><p>"Kunhang…" he warns. </p><p>"Please. You need someone with you,” Kunhang reasons. “I won't rest easy until I know you're being taken care of." </p><p>It takes a bout of vomiting for him to cave in, which is how he finds Dejun at his doorstep once again. He's armed with two paper bags full of everything that's needed to combat the flu: tissues, medicine, a Tupperware full of wonton soup.</p><p>They shuffle through the apartment in silence, sipping on hot soup in the cramped kitchen. "Thank you, by the way," Yukhei says eventually. </p><p>"There's no need." Dejun reaches up the refrigerator to get the soy sauce, and Yukhei retrieves it for him. "Just doing what I would for a friend." Dejun smiles at him then, soy sauce bottle in hand, and Yukhei feels a little more feverish, a little more delirious than he should be. </p><p>Dejun is there on the second night, too, bringing another pot—winter melon soup, this time. Feeling much better, Yukhei gulps half of it down. It starts raining, so Yukhei offers Dejun the couch; he accepts, and they settle on either side to watch Loving Vincent. </p><p>"Kunhang says you're an art historian," Dejun pipes up around ten minutes in. </p><p>Yukhei smiles at that, picking at a stray thread on the couch. "Yeah. Kind of a predictable choice of film, then, huh?" </p><p>Dejun shakes his head. "I don't mind. I like learning about this stuff. Kunhang's opened my eyes to that." </p><p>"Tell me about it." With some embarrassment, Yukhei wracks his brain for what Dejun does. Something in music, he's pretty sure. "You're a… composer?" </p><p>"Lyricist," Dejun amends. "That's the official name, but everyone in my studio does a bit of everything." </p><p>"I'd love to hear your music," Yukhei offers politely. “Kunhang says you’re very good.”</p><p>"And I'd love to… look at your museum?" Dejun returns.</p><p>They both chuckle. They're both sitting closer than they previously were, but neither of them say a word. </p><p>Yukhei's fever breaks the next day, and Dejun brings over a large pot of beef brisket to celebrate. He calls Kunhang while Dejun fiddles with the stove, leaning against the refrigerator. “Flu’s all but gone,” he reports. “Dejun’s brought the largest crock pot I’ve ever seen. Where on earth does he get all this good Cantonese food in the middle of Seoul?”</p><p>“Cooks it himself,” Kunhang answers. “I’m glad to hear you’re better. And that you and Dejun are getting along.”</p><p>Yukhei coughs. “Well. He’s seen me throw up in the toilet. There’s not a better icebreaker than that.”</p><p>They settle into the couch, bowls in their laps, and put on Amadeus. Right around Salieri's fifth crisis of faith, Dejun pauses the movie, setting his bowl down on the coffee table. </p><p>"Is something wrong?" Yukhei asks, mirroring Dejun's movements. </p><p>Dejun chews at his lip pensively, swiveling around on the couch to face him fully, legs crisscrossed in front of him. "I've been thinking, and… I'd like to apologize again," he says sincerely. "It was easy to go on with everything back then, but now that we've spent time together, I… I've seen how it all affects you. Kunhang and I." To Yukhei's surprise, Dejun takes his hand. "I'm sorry that I'm causing you pain. But we love each other, truly. And I'm not going to give that up."</p><p>Yukhei nods. "Neither am I."</p><p>"You still don't get it, do you?" Dejun lets go of his hand, and Yukhei retracts it, stung. "It's not a competition."</p><p>"No, I get it perfectly," Yukhei amends. "It's just difficult to swallow. But I think I'm on the way there." </p><p>Stunned, Dejun draws back, nodding dazedly. "That's… that's good."</p><p>They wash the dishes in silence—Dejun rinsing, Yukhei drying—and they linger in the kitchen for a bit more. For what reason, Yukhei can't possibly fathom; all he knows is that the air is thick, suffocating almost, with things unsaid.</p><p>Dejun perches himself on the counter, and Yukhei leans on the rickety dining table. "Kunhang is coming home in two days," he starts. "What then?" </p><p>"What do you mean what then?" </p><p>"What'll we tell him happened? That we held hands and sang ‘Kumbaya’ 'round the bonfire?" </p><p>Dejun snorts at that, kicking his feet a bit. "Isn't that what we did, essentially? I took care of your flu. In return, you renounced your hatred of me." </p><p>Yukhei frowns. "I never hated you."</p><p>"Could have fooled me," Dejun shrugs. "First time we met, you looked like you wanted to throttle me."</p><p>"Sorry about that."</p><p>"It's okay. I would have thought the same."</p><p>"I don't hate you," Yukhei repeats. He looks down at his slippered feet. "I don't hate anyone. But you, I think… I think I like you. More than I should."</p><p>"Yukhei?" His name sounds like a song when it comes from Dejun's lips.</p><p>It’s the easiest thing to step forward and kiss Dejun. It's hot, messy, frantic; his hands settle on Dejun's waist, and Dejun's fingers card through his hair, pulling him closer as Yukhei parts his lips. Yukhei kisses down the column of Dejun's neck, and Dejun's hands wander beneath his shirt, hungry for the warmth of his skin. "What are we going to tell Kunhang?" Dejun asks, and it's a much different question than before. </p><p>Yukhei presses his lips to the base of Dejun's throat. "That he can join next time."</p><p>Dejun's legs wrap around his waist, and they amble to the bedroom that way, breathless from the way their lips are attached. The movie is all but forgotten. </p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <b>iii. méditation</b>
</p><p> </p><p>Everything after that is easy. Dejun still stays in his apartment, but he spends most of his nights at Yukhei and Kunhang’s place, the three of them squeezing into the queen size. Dejun crammed against the wall, Yukhei preventing Kunhang from toppling over the edge with sheer strength. They’ve made space in the closet for Dejun’s things, but all their clothes get mixed up anyway; they get used to the sight of Dejun writing songs in the living room, and his spare guitar takes up a permanent space next to the couch, behind the side table. There’s talks of moving into another apartment altogether, but the cramped arrangement suits them just fine.</p><p>Mark doesn't come into the picture until a year later, after Yukhei’s traded his job at the museum for a significantly higher paying one as a consultant for the creative department of a publishing company. He's just been promoted to art manager when they meet; the director practically sings Mark’s praises, an upcoming author that was right around Yukhei's age who he would be working with for his first big project.</p><p>His art director didn’t mention that Mark was exceedingly attractive. Smart, handsome, well-put together—Yukhei can’t help his blatant admiration as he shakes Mark’s hand. “It's a pleasure to be working with you,” Mark says with a smile. </p><p>Yukhei is smitten. At home, Kunhang and Dejun never hear the end of it, sharing amused glances that evade Yukhei’s notice.</p><p>The big project, as it turns out, is Mark’s debut novel. Yukhei would be overseeing all design aspects of the book, from the cover to the font on the page numbers. It’s overwhelming, to say the least. But Mark makes his job easy. He knows exactly what he wants, even though he has less of an eye for aesthetic than the artists that Yukhei is leading. He has a vision, and Yukhei respects that. How he knows what he wants, and how he's determined to take it.</p><p>It’s easy to get swept up in Mark’s passion for his work—consequently, Yukhei discovers the wonders of overtime. He’d read the manuscript on a Saturday, completely unable to put it down, and has been in love with it ever since; this book <em> will </em>be judged by its cover, dammit, and Yukhei is determined that the readers' judgement be to pick it up once it hits the shelves.</p><p>The first time he and Mark overexert themselves, it’s on a Friday, and Yukhei barely even notices that it’s nearing 5 AM until he’s swaying on his feet. “Woah there, tiger,” Mark laughs, propping him up with his side. “Fuck, it’s almost five. I’m sorry for keeping you here so long.”</p><p>Yukhei yawns, having just the barest presence of mind to hide it behind his hand. “It’s okay. It was totally consensual.”</p><p>Another thing he likes about Mark: he laughs at all of Yukhei’s lame jokes. “I better go on ahead,” Mark sighs. “Are you sure you don’t want a ride?”</p><p>“I’m pretty sure I live on the other side of town. And besides, you need sleep, too.” Yukhei checks his phone—as he predicted, there’s a little green dot beside Dejun’s name. Creatures of the night, all of them. “I have a ride.” </p><p>“If you say so,” Mark answers doubtfully. “Stay safe out there, okay? Good work today.”</p><p>“You too.” Mark steps forward to give him a hug, and his eyelids fly wide open. “Um,” he says to Mark’s retreating back. “See you on Monday!” Mark laughs and waves a hand, disappearing into the elevator.</p><p>That whole ordeal wakes him up enough to call Dejun, who answers within ten seconds. "Good morning to you, too,” he chirps, not sounding the least bit put-upon. “We thought you were dead." </p><p>"I pretty much am,” Yukhei confesses. “Can you pick me up? I'm gonna fall asleep any time now, and I don't trust myself not to miss the stop if I get on the train."</p><p>To Yukhei’s surprise, it’s Kunhang who’s driving the car, Dejun waving cheerily in the backseat as they pull up to the front of his office building. “I love you both,” he says, dead serious as he peers into the window of the front seat.</p><p>“Alright. Get in the car, sleepy head,” Kunhang chides. He spends the whole ride drooling on Dejun's shoulder. </p><p>A bag of takeout from Starbucks and eight hours of sleep later, Yukhei finds himself having a late lunch in the living room while the three of them watch a documentary about penguins. Not that the penguins get much attention, though, because Yukhei is treating them to yet another sermon about the virtues of Mark Lee, how brilliant his book is, the coffee that he treated the office to on <em> his </em>birthday— </p><p>“You've been talking a lot about this Mark Lee lately,” Kunhang interrupts, sending a sly smile Dejun’s way.</p><p>“He has a crush,” Dejun declares.</p><p>Yukhei chokes on his jjajjangmyeon. “I don't—”</p><p>“Please, Yukhei, you're blushing,” Dejun cackles. </p><p>“Aw, it's okay,” Kunhang says soothingly. “Don't let Dejun and I get in the way of puppy love.” </p><p>“Insufferable,” Yukhei grumbles, shoving more noodles into his mouth. What he hates the most, he thinks, is that they’re right. Twenty-seven years old, and he has a crush. He’s a decade too old for this shit.</p><p>His phone pings, and Yukhei all but scrambles to unlock it. It’s from Mark, a simple “Did you get home safe?” Smiling, he types out a reply.</p><p>“Ooh, is that <em> Mark?” </em>Dejun simpers. He laughs when Yukhei kicks weakly at his leg, louder when Yukhei chases him around the apartment.</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>The project comes to an end within three months. The company’s vetted everything, and publishing is well underway; all that’s left is the lavish pre-launch party that will be held to celebrate everyone’s hard work. “You and Mark especially,” his art director says when he’s handed the invitation. “I have no idea how we would have met our deadlines if it weren’t for you two.”</p><p>Much to his disappointment, he doesn’t see Mark for the rest of the day—not until it’s six o’clock and they’re both waiting for the elevator. “I’m starting to think you enjoy working overtime,” Mark teases.</p><p>“I wonder who rubbed off on me,” Yukhei returns dryly. “It’s really over, huh? Book on its way. No more coffee runs at ten in the evening.”</p><p>Mark's answering smile is a little regretful, a little wistful, and Yukhei's traitorous heart skips a beat. “Don’t worry, I’ll make sure to request you for my next book.”</p><p>The elevator arrives and they step in together, shitty music bouncing around the glass walls. Yukhei coughs. “I’ll see you at the launch party, I guess?”</p><p>“Of course,” Mark laughs. “Are you bringing a guest?”</p><p>“I was thinking maybe two, if that’s okay.”</p><p>“Anything for my favorite art manager.”</p><p>“Great.” Yukhei fiddles with his tie, smiling nervously at Mark. “I'd love for you to meet my boyfriends.”</p><p>Mark's eyes widen, and for a moment Yukhei fears that he'll be shunned—but Mark composes himself quickly, answering with a wide grin. “I would love to meet them, too.”</p><p>Predictably, Kunhang and Dejun are thrilled to be invited to a formal event, and they spend the weekend fussing over their suits. Yukhei spends it strangely nervous; joking about Mark with the two of them is one things, but the three of them meeting up… he doesn’t know if he has the heart to handle it. He doesn’t even know why he’s so stressed about it—he knows that Kunhang and Dejun will love Mark, anyway, and he’s just a coworker besides. Not exactly the kind of person that needs approval from the two most important people in his life.</p><p>Even in his mind, that sounds like a lie. From the start, Mark was never just a coworker; Kunhang and Dejun saw right through that. Of course it would be of the utmost importance to him that they all get along. </p><p>They arrive at the party in Yukhei's Jazz, Kunhang at the wheel because he's unable to stomach Yukhei's fidgeting. They can't stop gawking at the reception hall—low-hung lights cast a warm glow on the small cocktail tables scattered across the room, most of which is taken up by a quickly-filling dance floor. Yukhei disapprovingly eyes one of his artists as she makes a beeline for the bar. </p><p>"Yukhei!" someone is shouting in glee, and the three of them swivel around to see someone in a powder blue silk suit walking towards them.</p><p>"Mark," Yukhei chokes out, much to his traitor boyfriends' amusement. "Um, this is Kunhang and Dejun." </p><p>"<em>Very </em>pleased to meet you," Dejun grins, sticking out a hand for Mark to shake. Mark graciously accepts, doing the same with Kunhang, eyeing them both with interest. </p><p>"Likewise," he says with a smile. "I have to give the big speech in a minute, but I'll join you after, if you'd like?" </p><p>"Absolutely," Kunhang agrees, and Mark gives them another disarming smile before sauntering off. "Oh, Yukhei, he's <em> cute." </em></p><p>"Babe, he majored in art," Dejun chides, circling an arm around Kunhang's waist. "Of course he has exquisite taste, if I do say so myself." </p><p>"You guys are so <em>embarrassing,</em>" Yukhei whines. "Be more obvious, will you?" </p><p>"If you say so," Dejun cackles.</p><p>Mark's speech is a big hit—not that Yukhei expected anything less from a literal novelist. As promised, Mark rejoins them after, even going so far as to spend most of the night with them instead of their other coworkers. Yukhei can barely find it in himself to worry about the propriety of it all, too busy basking in the glow of his triumph as Mark dazzles Kunhang and Dejun both.</p><p>“I understand now,” Kunhang says to him over his red wine, watching as Mark and Dejun laugh over at the bar. </p><p>“I told you he was amazing," Yukhei gloats. "You need to read his book, you will <em> shit.</em>”</p><p>Around eleven, Mark’s eyelids are drooping, drowsy with all the champagne that's been handed to him. Yukhei tells Mark's editor not to worry, that he'll get home safe, and she looks like she could almost kiss him. </p><p>They pile into Yukhei's car a half hour later, Dejun at the driver's wheel and Kunhang calling shotgun. Mark gives him the address, and they're off.</p><p>"I had fun tonight," he murmurs to Yukhei, low enough that the two in front can't hear. "Your boyfriends are great. And funny. And easy on the eyes."</p><p>Yukhei chuckles. "I know. I'm a lucky man."</p><p>"You didn't tell me they're as gorgeous as you are,” Mark continues. Yukhei turns to him in surprise, only to find that Mark is looking right at him. “I feel like I deserved some warning."</p><p>"Mark, I—"</p><p>He's cut off by a hand reaching up to cup his jaw, fingers trailing against his cheek. Mark's eyes are clear. "Is this okay?" he whispers. "Is this okay?" he repeats to Kunhang and Dejun, and Dejun's grip on the steering wheel grows tighter. Not out of anger, but shock. Yukhei himself can barely breathe, heart thundering in his chest.</p><p>Through the rearview mirror, Kunhang answers with an almost imperceptible nod. Mark turns his gaze back onto Yukhei. "Your choice."</p><p>Yukhei swallows thickly and nods. Mark tilts his head up and presses their lips together, a slow, burning kiss; his lips taste of bitter grapes, but Yukhei can’t find it in himself to care. He wraps his hand around Mark’s hip, pulling him closer. A gasp prompts him to open his eyes—Kunhang is watching them, Dejun barely keeping his eyes on the road.</p><p>Mark pulls away, and the sound that makes in the silent car is almost obscene. "I don't feel like going home,” he says coyly. “Can you show me your place instead?"</p><p>Yukhei swears that Dejun has never driven that quickly. Within twenty minutes they're back at the apartment, where they get to shed every piece of Mark's silk suit.</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>Yukhei wakes up with a terrible crick in his neck and half his body hanging off the bed. Blearily, he looks over to the mess of limbs beside him: Kunhang draped over his side, Dejun mashed against the wall, and Mark between them, blanket only barely preserving his modesty. Yukhei chuckles at that, leaning up against the headboard and effectively waking up all of them except Dejun, who continues to snore.</p><p>“Good morning,” Kunhang says, half-muffled against Yukhei’s bicep.</p><p>“Morning,” Mark answers, and after a glance at the alarm clock on the bedside table, “Shit. My roommate will be wondering where I am.”</p><p>“Do you really have to go?” Yukhei asks as Mark slides off the end of the bed. “How do you like your eggs?”</p><p>“Shut it, you,” Mark says with a smile and a roll of his eyes. “Oh, I've got nothing to wear…”</p><p>“Here, I'll help you find something.” Kunhang clambers out of bed, and Mark smiles as he rummages through their closet. Yukhei scooches over closer to Dejun so Kunhang can settle back in, and they watch as Mark—quite unabashedly—gets dressed.</p><p>"Thanks for letting me sleep over," he says, draping his rumpled suit over the reading chair and fishing his keys, wallet, and phone out of it. "And the clothes. I have to get going."</p><p>"Are you sure we can't drive you?"</p><p>"It's okay, you look really comfortable over there." A slow once-over of the three of them in bed. "It was nice meeting you. I'll pick my suit up next time."</p><p>Next time. Yukhei hides his grin in Dejun's shoulder. "See you on Monday."</p><p>“See you on Monday.” To Yukhei's surprise, Mark kisses him and Kunhang on the cheek, Dejun on his bare shoulder. He waves as he closes the door behind him.</p><p>“I like him,” Kunhang declares. </p><p>Yukhei smiles, pulling Dejun—still sleeping—closer to his chest. “Me, too.”</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>The plan to get a new apartment only comes into fruition a year later, when all four of them have made everything official and cramming themselves—and their clothes—into the small bedroom is proving to become an extreme sport.</p><p>“I love you all, but I can't live like this,” Dejun announces on movie night, draped on Mark’s lap on the couch while Yukhei and Kunhang take up the floor. “We need a new place ASAP. All of us.”</p><p>“I'd like to move in officially, too,” Mark adds, a tad shy.</p><p>Kunhang waves a popcorn-filled hand. “It’s Saturday tomorrow. We can go apartment-hunting,” he answers, and that’s that.</p><p>The morning is spent researching online; the afternoon, circling ads in the newspaper. It takes them two weeks to find a time that suits all of them to actually go and drive around the city to look at apartments, a chore that Yukhei never thought he would enjoy—but the sheer, incandescent energy of the three people with him makes it seem like an adventure.</p><p>They strike gold on their fifth visit, a two-bedroom with huge windows in the living room. “Imagine painting in here,” Kunhang says excitedly, emerging from one of the rooms and beckoning them in. It really is quite a beautiful room, with cream walls and two airy windows. “I'd have to get curtains, of course—cloth for the canvases that'll be exposed, but just imagine, Yukhei.”</p><p>“If you want it that much, we can get this one,” he says indulgently.</p><p>Kunhang smiles, thrilled, but he shakes his head. “It's too small, though…”</p><p>“We can get the next one, too. Break down the wall between, so both units are ours,” Dejun suggests. “Landlord says it’s just like this one. We each get our own room and plenty of space besides.”</p><p>“I'd like that,” Mark agrees, looking up at Yukhei with a grin. “A room for each of us. Between Kunhang’s canvases, Dejun’s equipment, and our books, we’ll never find an apartment that’ll fit all of us. Why not just buy both?”</p><p>“We’re dating a best-selling author, you know,” Kunhang adds, and he gets a punch on the arm from Mark. “Money isn’t an issue.”</p><p>Yukhei smiles, watching the three of them bicker and laugh. He walks out of the room unnoticed, surveying the apartment, every wall, every beam, every nook and cranny. He can see them all here, he thinks. Living together, growing together. A new life.</p><p>“Well?” Yukhei turns around to find the three of them glancing expectantly at him. It’s Kunhang who’s asked the question, hands on his hips in a mock display of impatience. “What do you think? Should we do it?”</p><p>“Absolutely,” Yukhei answers, and they all grin, stepping forward to wrap their arms around each other. They stand there, limbs all tangled, a complicated web. Yukhei doesn’t want anything else.</p><p>“I don't much like those cupboards, though,” Mark grouses. They look towards the said cupboards, a drab, uninspiring egg-white. “They'll need to be repainted.”</p><p>Yukhei grins, pulling them all closer together. “I have the perfect shade of green in mind.”</p><p><br/>
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  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>mark's suit is the one he wore in the nct 2020 teaser :p</p><p>hope you enjoyed this addition to the dakota johnson kitchen cinematic universe. read my other drabble for this universe <a href="https://twitter.com/1999LlNE/status/1275123678896746496?s=20">here</a>!</p><p><a href="https://twitter.com/1999LlNE">twt</a> • <a href="https://ko-fi.com/yuchi">ko-fi</a></p></blockquote></div></div>
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